had dissipated a little but the memory of Sunny running barefoot down the length of the wharf would haunt me for a long time to come. I resented being party to Sunny’s humiliation and I was going to let Karen know it.
There was no response to my knock. Personally, I can’t be confronted by a door handle without attempting to turn it. Turning being its only raison d’être and all, it seems impolite not to. That’s my excuse, anyway. The front door opened into a T-shaped wide hallway with a warren of spacious rooms leading off on either side. All the doors stood open except the one directly on my right. I paused in the entranceway and called Karen’s name, turning my head to one side to listen for a response. It had been a typically turbulent Wellington landing and one ear was still blocked from the flight. My stomach rumbled loudly in the silence. It wasn’t just the cold breeze from the open door that made me shudder. There was an unnerving stillness in the air. The closed door on my right was paint-stripped rimu. Sanded and oiled. Closed. A big decorative brass doorknob confronted me, begging to be turned.
Karen was lying on the floor, her head propped up against the base of the bed. She was wearing a cross-over style silk dressing gown that was tied at the waist and decorated with large brightly coloured parrots. The slump of her body made the top gape open to expose a brown puckered nipple. Her legs were stretched out in front, crossed at the ankles, hands splayed open in her lap. My knees clicked as I knelt and held two fingertips to her throat. The skin was cool. I let my breath out but didn’t seem able to take in a full lungful of air to replace it. Karen’s head was tilted forward as if she was studying the upturned hands in her lap. Her hair smelt of Pantene conditioner. I knew already I’d never use it again. Squatting closer, I could make out a dark-bluish patch beneath the hair feathering her neck. A bruise or graze maybe. The silence in the room was complete. My toes cramped, forcing me to shift position. Now I was kneeling beside her, my head at the same height as hers. I twisted to look up into her face and caught the oily gleam of an eye. Mascara clumps weighted the lashes. How very still a dead body is. My fingers twitched with the desire to tug the gown up over the exposed nipple. What harm would it do? I could say I shifted it by accident when I was feeling for her pulse. My fingers edged towards the lapel … The shock of my phone ringing almost toppled me into Karen’s lap. I recognised the ringtone: ‘Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.’ The song was eerily fitting.
‘Sean?’ my voice sounded normal.
‘Hey, listen, I banged into Joe Morton on the street this morning and he said he’s interested in having a look at the house. You know he always loved our place.’ He sounded so very alive. The body lying in front of me was so very dead. ‘Shall I tell him to give you a ring, or get him to contact the agent?’
My stomach rumbled again. It seemed obscene to be hungry in the presence of death. ‘Can you come here?’
‘Where? I thought you were in Auckland.’
‘No, I’m here.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Someone’s dead. My client, I mean. She’s dead.’ I turned my face towards the light from the bay window. It made talking about it easier.
‘I only just got here and found her. It doesn’t have to be you that comes, but can you send someone?’ I gave him the address. He told me to go sit outside and instructed me not to touch anything.
‘Touch absolutely nothing at all,’ he repeated in the way that has always made me want to do the opposite.
I confirmed the address, told him I was fine and didn’t need to keep talking to him until the car arrived. I managed to thank him for the offer, though. And I went outside like he told me to. And I didn’t touch anything. But I did take photos with my iPhone. Since I did it without moving my feet more than absolutely necessary I reckoned it was fair. I turned my phone towards the overnight bag lying open on the window seat, some clothes folded neatly beside it, click. And